


Divine

by DictionaryWrites2



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Begging, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Control Issues, Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Desperation, M/M, Rimming, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 05:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18793780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites2/pseuds/DictionaryWrites2
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale play with something...New.Or, not new. But new for Aziraphale.





	Divine

“Oh, my dear, my  _dear_ , let me—”

“Angel, I will not let you do  _anything_ ,” Crowley replied, his hands gripping tightly at Aziraphale’s thighs. His fingernails were longer than Aziraphale’s, albeit buffed to a handsome polish, and he watched Aziraphale’s body shift as he shivered under the touch. He didn’t do it hard enough to leave a mark, just hard to enough to  _warn_  him – Aziraphale didn’t much like pain, as much as he enjoyed inflicting it on Crowley… And as much as Crowley enjoyed the aforementioned affliction. “Stay  _down_.”

Aziraphale was breathing heavily, and Crowley watched eagerly as his chest rose and fell, as his belly shifted as he breathed, and a flush had burned from his chest up the length of his neck, flourishing in his cheeks. “Crowley,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, “Crowley, I want to kiss you, let me kiss you, let me—”

“Kiss me later,” Crowley said, and he shoved Aziraphale’s thighs further apart. Crowley was kneeling on the floor in front of Aziraphale’s armchair, quite clothed, although he’d vanished Aziraphale’s clothes right away. “I want to try ssssomething…  _Different_.”

“You’re beautiful,” Aziraphale said, looking down at him with his eyes soft, and Crowley wriggled slightly in his place, leaning forward and nuzzling at Aziraphale’s cock, his lips dragging over the base of it before he let his tongue flicker out. He liked Aziraphale’s cock. It was a good size – Aziraphale hadn’t given much thought about it when he’d made it, and proportionally…

 _Mmm_.

Crowley liked the size of it.

Not that it was especially long, no: Aziraphale wouldn’t admit to it, but he was reasonably certain that Aziraphale had based his cock on Crowley’s own[1], and just made adjustments for proportion. Crowley’s cock was like  _him_ : a little longer than average, slender,  _handsome._ Aziraphale’s cock was like  _him_ : short, and fat, and  _perfect_.

Aziraphale let out a groan as Crowley flicked his tongue up the length of him, tracing the neat line of his raphe as he did so, and then he reached forward, cupping his bollocks in his palm and playing his thumb over them, over the soft skin, the scantest traces of hair there. His tongue dipped into Aziraphale’s slit, and Aziraphale  _hissed_ , his fingers dragging into Crowley’s hair and tightening his grip on the dark locks, and oh, it was  _wonderful,_ the lovely  _pain_  of it, hot drag at his scalp.

His fingers pressed further back, dipping down between the fat cleft of Aziraphale’s buttocks, and—

“Oh,  _angel_ ,” Crowley muttered, and he dragged the angel forward by the backs of his knees, making him let out a yelp as he fell down against the back of the armchair, his arse hanging over the cushion, and a bit of Crowley enjoyed the indignity of that desperate little noise, so  _sudden_ , so abrupt. “Would you do the whole  _thing_ , please?”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked plaintively, his intonation uneven as Crowley sucked at the frenum, his tongue dragging hard against the bundle of nerves there. “Oh,  _Crowley_ , let me—”

“Let me, let me, let me!” Crowley repeated, squeezing Aziraphale’s bollocks and hearing him choke out a noise. “Aziraphale, just do what I  _tell_  you for once. Do I have to tie you down? Pin you on your back, paint Enochian symbols on your chest in my blood and watch you writhe in agony?”

“Ecstasy is more my prerogative, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, a little more smugly than Crowley would like.

Crowley bit the inside of his thigh, and Aziraphale wailed.

“I  _said_ ,” Crowley said, pressing at the back of Aziraphale’s balls once again, “you need to have the whole  _thing_. Where’s your prostate?”

“I have a prostate!”

“It’s not very accessible.”

“It’s a prostate, Crowley, not a  _parking_  spa—  _a—_   _Crowley—!”_

 _“Sorry,”_  Crowley said, throwing his voice without using his mouth, tongue, teeth, or lips. “ _My mouth is full.”_

“What do you need it for, anyway?” Aziraphale asked, curling his fingers through Crowley’s hair and dragging at it as Crowley swallowed around him, his tongue curling in the most devilish way possible around him, wrapping around his cock again and again in  _inhuman_  little loops. “It’s— Oh, my dear, I thought you preferred it when I, ah, took the superior position?”

“We’re not calling it that,” Crowley said, dragging his teeth over the crease at one of Aziraphale’s thighs, feeling the plump flesh dip and shift under the pressure. “Besides, would you complain if I  _did_  give as much as I received?”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale said. “Of course, we both know you’re far too lazy for that.”

Crowley closed his mouth with a click, and leaned back, away from Aziraphale’s crotch. The angel peered down at him, his skin flushed, and then he fidgeted in his place, spreading his knees a little wider. Aziraphale shifted his hips, grinding slightly up against the empty air: his hands, no longer able to tangle in Crowley’s hair, settled on the arms of the chair. They did not, of course, move that the angel might touch himself, but Crowley could see his fingers twitch.

Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“ _Crowley,”_ Aziraphale said, doing his best to be stern. Of course, it was difficult to be stern whilst whining, which Aziraphale was.

“Hm?”

“Crowley, my dear,  _please_.”

“Please, what?”

“Please,  _do_  return to your ministrations.”

“My ministrations? I don’t remember ministering to anything. What was I ministering to?”

“ _Me_ , dear boy.”

“ _You_? Can’t imagine why I’d do that. You’ve not even got an anus.”

“What’s this fascination with my anus all of a sudden? Ordinarily, it’s all about  _your_ —”

“I would love to begin a passionate fascination with your anus, angel, as soon as you have one for me to be fascinated with.”

“I’m just curious, my dear!”

“I can’t satisfy that curiosity until I have somewhere to  _minister_  my  _ministrations_.”

“But I thought—”

“Stop thinking! Just do what I say!” Aziraphale bit his lip, looking down at him, and Crowley leaned in, nuzzling once more at Aziraphale’s cock and feeling him hiss out a noise as Crowley’s breath ran hot over his skin. “Angel, we agreed that I would drive tonight, didn’t we?”

“I don’t see,” Aziraphale said, a little snippily, “why I can’t let you drive, and still know which direction we’re driving in.”

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley murmured, and he kissed tenderly from the side of Aziraphale’s knee up toward his thigh, feeling the way he shivered and twitched beneath Crowley’s mouth, the white flesh rippling as he jolted and squirmed. He loved Aziraphale’s thighs, loved how he could get  _fistfuls_  of them and just sink into them. They were good thighs – if he did fuck Aziraphale tonight, he wouldn’t even  _want_  his arse. He’d want to sink himself between those thighs, feel them hot and soft around his cock, let him drag up against Aziraphale’s, grab at his arse the whole time… “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale said.

“Are you frightened of what I might do to you?”

“ _No_ , don’t be silly.” Aziraphale glanced away from him, his gaze flickering down to the carpet, and Crowley frowned, sliding forward and letting his fingers play over Aziraphale’s thighs, even as he drew closer, so that they were chest to chest, Crowley’s suit dragging over the oversensitive expanse of Aziraphale’s chest.

“Then what  _isss_  it?” Crowley asked, and his tongue flickered out, swiping over the side of Aziraphale’s jaw and making him whimper. Crowley grinned. “Oh, issss that it? Do you want me to be  _nasty_  to you, angel?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aziraphale said. The blossoming blush in his cheeks deepened from “rosy” to “fire-engine red”.

“That’s  _it_ , isn’t it?  _You_  don’t want to let me be the  _superior_  one unless I rough you up a little bit,” Crowley murmured. It wasn’t exactly how they did things, the other way around. Aziraphale was certainly  _condescending_ , and that sent shivers up Crowley’s spine, whenever he topped. Aziraphale would whisper poetry and compliments against Crowley’s skin, and whenever he whimpered to loudly or complained, or begged, Aziraphale would  _mock_  him, soft and low and full of honeyed humour, and that, that was  _sexy_.

This? This was different, but Crowley thought he could manage it.

“That’s hardly—”

“Shut  _up_ , angel,” Crowley murmured, and he dragged Aziraphale’s lip under his teeth, winding his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair and pulling him into a rough, bruising kiss. Aziraphale gasped into his mouth, his hands moving to Crowley’s hips, but Crowley slapped at the backs of his hands, and Aziraphale let out a heady moan, dragging his hands back to himself. “I’m going to do something so  _nasty_  to you. That the sort of thing you’re looking for? For me to torture you?”

“N— No,” Aziraphale said, although the word got stuck in his mouth, and he was looking hungrily at Crowley’s mouth instead of at his eyes as Crowley slid down to his knees.

“Go— Sa—  _Fuck_ ,” Crowley said, and he put his hand forward, dragging his thumb over the pink pucker there, pressing down on the muscle.

Aziraphale shivered.

“That it, angel? You want me to make you wail?”

“I’d like to see you try, dear boy,” Aziraphale said. Crowley leaned forward, breathing over the hole, and he watched it twitch and clench, listened to Aziraphale’s exhalation. “Oh, Crowley, surely you don’t mean to—”

“Angel,” Crowley asked, very deliberately, “do you want me to gag you?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then, unless you’re begging me to  _do_  something, or actually telling me to  _stop_ , I don’t want to hear you talk. Ooh, I suppose you can scream my name in inexorable pleasure.”

“Do you think that likely?” Aziraphale asked sceptically.

Crowley went in tongue-first, and Aziraphale moaned his name.

Crowley didn’t press in, right away, just let his tongue trace around the clean, wrinkled muscle: Aziraphale’s skin tasted like sunshine and salt, although the salt was far more like sea air rather than the salt that  _human_  skin tasted of. Aziraphale had heard how human skin was meant to taste, when one licked it, but had never gone to the trouble of licking one to check for himself, and the approximation was more than good enough for Crowley, who only licked humans when it was absolutely necessary.

“Oh, oh, Crowley, that feels… Oh, that feels…” He trailed off, and Crowley smirked, grabbing at Aziraphale’s thighs and pulling them closer, so that Aziraphale’s knees were over his shoulders, and immediately, on instinct alone, Aziraphale hooked his feet at the centre of Crowley’s back, locking him closer. Crowley wriggled his tongue slightly, threatening to press in, and Aziraphale heaved in a high-pitched gasp as his cock gave a  _beautiful_  twitch, white wetness pearling at the head of it.

“Good, right?” Crowley murmured, and then he put his mouth back to work, sliding his tongue  _in_ : he swiped around the inside of the entrance, feeling the velvet-smooth flesh of Aziraphale’s arse under his tongue, and Aziraphale  _whimpered,_ his thighs tightening in either side of Crowley’s flesh. This? Oh, this wasn’t Heaven, but it was better  _than_. Aziraphale’s thighs were warm and fat and pillowy, and Crowley let out a low noise in the back of his throat[2] as he dragged his tongue back slightly, sucking at Aziraphale’s rim and making him  _keen_.

“Oh, it feels  _divine_ ,” Aziraphale moaned, and Crowley decided not to go for the low-hanging fruit in  _that_  statement, instead deciding to shift his tongue forward. Crowley’s tongue was long, serpentine, and  _utterly_  inhuman. It was capable, in fact, of many things a human tongue was not.

For example, reaching in and sweeping a line over the back of the little bundle of nerves that pressed against the wall there, and Aziraphale really  _did_  scream. It was a loud noise,  _very_  loud, and his fingers all but  _tore_  at Crowley’s hair as he ground himself down against Crowley’s mouth, his knees locked either side of his head, and Crowley laughed at the way his cock jumped.

“Isn’t it— Oh, Crowley, isn’t it dirty?”

“ _I doubt it, angel,”_  Crowley said dryly, even as his tongue twisted against the inside of his rim and made Aziraphale’s hips jump. “ _You’ve not even been using this.”_

“Oh, it feels—  _Goodness_ , Crowley, it’s impossible, I really, oh, I’m not hurting you, am I? Oh, my  _dear_ , do—  _ngh_ , do that again, please, please—”

Crowley sucked at the sensitive bridge of skin between Aziraphale’s hole and his cock. What would Aziraphale call it – his perineum? Maybe his  _guiche_ , if he was feeling romantic. Whatever Aziraphale would call it, sucking it made him  _shudder_ , and Crowley began fucking him with his tongue, grasping at his thighs as he did so.

Aziraphale didn’t even  _realise_  he was doing it, Crowley didn’t think, but he was rolling his hips down and against Crowley’s mouth, eager for more… Oh, yes. Yes, he’d  _definitely_  found the good spot here.

“Oh, Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,” Aziraphale choked out, and Crowley twisted his tongue again.

Aziraphale just…  _shattered_.

The noise he made was sixty obscenities in itself, his voice cracking, and his thighs  _squeezed_  around him, as admirably as Crowley ever could, as a constrictor, or like a cobra, he could never remember which[3]. Crowley kept on moving his tongue as Aziraphale rode it out, his cock spasming and pulsing against his belly, untouched, ad it was—

Oh, yes.

Oh,  _yes_ , Crowley liked this.

“Oh,  _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale choked out, and Crowley slowly withdrew, pressing kisses over the soft flesh of Aziraphale’s belly and looking up at him. Aziraphale wasn’t sweating (he didn’t usually like to), but there was a healthy glow to much of his skin, and Crowley kept on kissing up the centre of his chest. “Oh, Crowley, Crowley—”

“I’m going to fuck between your thighs,” Crowley decided. “Bend you over your desk and make you come  _just_  like that…”

“Oh, that was— It was really very good, dear boy, I—”

“I’m going to  _bite_  you,” Crowley said, and he watched Aziraphale squirm. “I’m going to bite you, and fuck you, and fuck between these thighs of yours until you beg for me to stop.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly.

“Does that meet with your approval?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale mumbled, looking dreamy-eyed at Crowley. “Yes, please.”

Crowley laughed, and began kissing back down. “But first,” he said.

“Oh, oh, Crowley, you can hardly do it again, right away, that’s too much, it feels too good, I really couldn’t—”

“But you’re a  _glutton_ , angel,” Crowley said, his tongue tracing the crease between Aziraphale’s thigh and his hip, and watching the oversensitive  _jump_  he gave. “You always eat my dessert after finishing yours. Think of it as seconds.”

“Oh, oh, Crowley, I really— Oh, Crowley, my dear, you’ll  _kill_  me, I, I really think I will—” Aziraphale’s whine was stuttered and desperate, but he certainly didn’t flinch away: he ground right up into Crowley’s mouth as Crowley swallowed his half-soft cock down, and Crowley, if he could have grinned,  _would_  have.

In the meantime—

“Oh, you  _wicked_  thing,” Aziraphale gasped. “Do that again.”

 

[1] This was the only reason, Crowley was reasonably certain, that Aziraphale had bothered with a cock at all, and Crowley was  _entirely_  ready, in future, to convince him to try something a little more exciting.

[2] Aziraphale later informed him that this noise was  _absolutely_  a growl, and that he would be ever so pleased to hear it again, if Crowley would be so kind.

[3] Crowley could never really decide what sort of snake he was supposed to be, and oscillated wildly between herpetological descriptors in any case. The sort of snake Crowley was, at any time, was simply the snake he felt like being.


End file.
